


Alive

by Totally_Legit



Category: GOT7
Genre: 2Jae, AU, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Horror, M/M, One Shot, some love, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totally_Legit/pseuds/Totally_Legit
Summary: Jaebum couldn't live without Youngjae. He literally couldn't live without Youngjae.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I've played way too much Last of us recently and the Zombie Apocalypse stuff wouldn't get out of my head last night. I wanted to write some Youngjae-ish badassery, but action is wayy too hard to write, so you're getting Jaebum's coming of age story instead.
> 
> Thanks Ju for the inspiration. You don't know it, but you're responsible.♥

When he sees Youngjae go down, he thinks it’s over. No, he _knows_ it’s over. His scream is agonizing and Jaebum’s blood freezes. It came out of nowhere, angry, growling, jumped him and like in slowmotion and fast forward at the same time he watches in terror how Youngjae's body crashes against the railing and the rusty bars give out under the pressure. They creak and then he watches them fall, the whole story deep and with a disgusting cracking noise they hit the ground, Youngjae first, buried under the rotting body and through the screaming and hissing Jaebum can make out the pained cry that he emits when he lands. His whole body smashing into the concrete floor just two meters away from where Jaebum is cowering behind a tipped over table, terrified and shaking.

Youngjae’s gun dropped out of his hands when he fell and it clattered to the ground out of reach and he’s still fighting, arms pushing against the body on top of him. Its hand are flailing, teeth snapping between the incoherent growls as it scrambles to grab, scratch, bury its teeth. Jaebum’s heart never beat that fast, it’s racing in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins and he knows he has to do something. He holds the pistol in both his hands and crouches forward out of his cover to raise it at the creature. His hands are shaking, his muscles won’t listen to him. He’s a bad shot even in a less threatening situation and when his index pulls the trigger and the deafening noise of the gunshot echoes off the walls, he misses by a meter at least, bullet smashing into the floor behind them.

Youngjae whimpers, yelps, his arms seem to lose their strength, no longer able to keep the creature at bay, away from his flesh as it snaps relentlessly. Jaebum feels the gun slip from his fingers. In a rush, without thinking, though Youngjae would say he _always_ acts without thinking, he launches forward, bridges the space between them and with a wild battle cry throws his whole body weight at it. He tackles the creature like a footballer, shoulders first and his own strength surprises him. He throws it off Youngjae successfully but he smashes the ground with it and rolls over and then the body is atop of _his_ and now he’s the one crying and stemming his hands against the shoulders to keep it away as its fingers scramble for his clothes, try to scratch him and the bared teeth behind rotten lips snap and snap and snap.

The thin body has a surprising lot of strength and as much a Jaebum tries and pushes, it’s careless, not afraid of pain or injury it screeches and attacks and flails. He feels his eyes brim with tears of terror and he averts them in order to find Youngjae lying on the ground next to him. But he isn’t there. The disgusting noise of cracking bones pierces through his ears and spoiled, disgusting black blood splatters onto his face. As his eyes snap upright he sees the shiny tip of Youngjae’s dagger glint between the creature’s teeth. The flailing stops, the growling noises fall silent.

Jaebum gives one last push, throwing the thing off him to the ground, where it twitches once and then stills. Dead. Youngjae rammed his knife straight through its skull and killed it for good. Jaebum spits on the soiled floor, the taste of rotten blood almost making him puke and wipes his face. He hears a thump and whirls around. Youngjae fell back down, he’s pale and shaking. He’s injured. Jaebum crawls over to him, still as shaky as before. He’s injured and he still saved him.

“Youngjae.” He gasps and reaches for him, he needs to touch him, hold him. “Youngjae are you okay?” He grabs him by the shoulders to pull him upright, hears a tiny moan. “Are you hurt? Did it get you, Youngjae?!” “Shut up.” He hears the weak response and he shuts up. His left arm hangs loose by his side and his eyes are glassy. He’s already attempting to scramble to his feet. “Stay down.” Jaebum attempts. “You’re hurt, you need to…” “Shut up!” Youngjae snarls. “We need to get the fuck out of here, do you hear me?” His voice is weaker than usually, but it loses nothing of its menace with which he tends to order him around. “If there are any others nearby they heard…” His sentence is interrupted when he coughs.

Jaebum helps him to get up. He’s terrified, but there’s nothing more comforting than to see Youngjae upright and on his feet, unstable but with the same determination in his eyes that he always seems to hold. “We have to get back to the car.” He instructs him and Jaebum nods. “Take your fucking gun!!” Jaebum startles and stumbles over to the spot where he dropped it. The metal still feels wrong and strange in his hands. He also picks up Youngjae’s, who holds out his right hand and places it in his palm.

Youngjae also limps and Jaebum means to steady him, but he gets weakly pushed away. “I can walk.” He hisses. “You look out.” Jaebum nods, how he always nods and takes careful steps towards the exit. He can’t hear anything. No screams or thrumming feet in the distance, but he still raises his gun up before him, eyes darting around. He peeks outside. He can’t see far. They came in to the depot from the other side so they will have to circle back around it. He hears Youngjae’s shuffling feet and small pained groans behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s not sure he could handle seeing him, the way he’s hurt, unable to protect him. It scares him.

They do make it back to the car and Jaebum rips the passenger door open just for Youngjae to fall inside. He reaches out, wants to help him, but his hands get slapped away. “Get going!” Youngjae growls and Jaebum throws the door shut to get onto the driver’s seat. The engine roars up and they pull out of the depots parking space back onto the road. “Where should I go?” Jaebum’s voice trembles when he asks, but he gets no answer. Youngjae’s head lies back against the neck rest and his eyes are closed.

He’s not panicking. He’s not panicking. _He’s not panicking_. The afternoon sun is bright in the sky, the remaining leaves on the trees still a bit green while they roll down the mountain road. Jaebum doesn’t know what’s ahead. He doesn’t know how long they can drive. Youngjae needs rest. “We need to find a safe place.” He says and Youngjae hums. “Drive.” He mutters. Jaebum glances over at him. He doesn’t know what’s ahead.

He hits the breaks, turns the steering around and makes a sharp turn, backtracking the street up the hill where they came from. As they pass the depot he finds it still quiet, thankfully, but he doesn’t slow down. They passed the village only minutes before they stopped there. Youngjae told him not to halt between the houses. Even from the car windows they could tell that all the buildings had been looted, smashed windows and blood scattered in the roads. Jaebum saw the house on the hill when they drove past, a little bit offside the rest of the town but he didn’t dare to bring it up, because Youngjae was moody and when Youngjae is moody it’s better to shut your mouth.

The path to the house is rather steep, small walls left and right of the driveway. It would have been pretty back in the days. He rolls up to the side and stops, leaves the motor running and listens. It’s still quiet, even as he rolls down the windows and listens harder. But it was quiet in the depot too and that’s what made it so dangerous. A false sense of security. When he glances over he sees Youngjae’s eyes blink open for a moment. He doesn’t object but he mumbles. “Let me check if it’s…” He voice wavers out. Jaebum wants to cry.

He shuts the motor off. It’s like a false display of bravery when he gets out of the car and he knows it. It’s not heroic. If he goes in alone and gets eaten, Youngjae will be all alone and defenseless with his injuries. But he really just doesn’t know what else to do.

It must have been an inn or something, a long time ago. The signs are withered or have fallen off, but there’s a space out front where he imagines tables could have been out for a nice summer day lunch. The door is actually locked when he carefully pulls the handle, but almost all the ground level windows are smashed in. He picks some shards from the frame of the nearest one and climbs through. The wooden floor is moldy, leaves scattered and weather having taken its toll on the interior. But he finds the staircase surprisingly steady.

Sneaking upstairs doesn’t take as long as it should. He’s hasty and he knows it. It makes him careless, but he just wants to find a place to rest. He tries the first door on the upper floor. It creaks when it swings open and reveals what once was a comfy bedroom. The window is intact and closed, the smell in the room stuffed and moldy. Two single beds are against the walls, all drawers ripped open. Someone looted this house, but the room seems fine.

Youngjae is completely gone when he comes back downstairs. He doesn’t react when spoken to, he doesn’t move. Jaebum doesn’t have the strength to carry him. Luckily he could open the front door from inside, because he has no idea how he should have gotten him through the window. He crosses his arms under his shoulders and locks them around his chest to drag him upstairs. His feet scrape over the soft floor and bump into the stairs. Jaebum groans, sweats, but Youngjae is motionless and quiet.

The old mattress exhales clouds of dust when the weight is dropped on it. He knows Youngjae would scold him if he knew that he didn’t check the entire house before bringing him inside, but what is he supposed to do anyways if he were to find infected? He’s useless.

He’s too weak to move the other bed, but he finds a dresser that is easier to push and it makes a terrible scratching noise when it scrapes over the floor and he shoves it up against the door. It’s pointless, he knows that. To barricade the door when they can’t get out any other way. It’s only the first floor, but in his condition Youngjae couldn’t jump out there. He already fell once today.

He turns back around to his still body on the bed. He’s shaking from fear and exhaustion, but only when he inspects him closer, he realizes in horror that the sprained shoulder isn’t the only injury he received. There’s a shiny dark red stain on his shirt, where the jacket slid to the side, on the side of his waist. Jaebum freezes, panic clogging his mind and he whimpers “No…” that nobody can hear. He stumbles to the bed, falling to his knees and with shaky fingers scrambles the fabric out of the way. His side is covered in blood. He grabs Youngjae with all strength he has left and rolls him into his front. Bare muscles and torn skin stare him in the face from the back of his waist. “Nonono.” He whimpers, yet a strange mixture of fear and desperate relieve clouding his senses. He must have been hurt from the fall. Maybe the railing, some metal bar pierced his flesh. Not teeth. Those weren’t teeth.

Theoretically Jaebum does know how to tend injuries. He’s doing it all the time. In his feeble attempt to be of some use to the strong, confident young man that rescued him from the rotting apartment building he’d been holed up in for too long. The handsome, skilled warrior, the first face he’s seen after months of isolation who was gracious enough to take him and bring him out into the sunlight, keep him safe. In his attempt to be of any use, Jaebum scavenged and read books about first aid, about survival tactics, water filtration, food preservation.

But he doesn’t have any supplies. He does have the puny remains of an ancient first aid kid in his backpack, but they’re out of alcohol wipes and out of clean bandages. Jaebum knows how to stitch a wound, but with no sterilized tools he’d just cause an infection. So he just rips up the sheets of the other bed and fixes a compression bandage on the wound to stop the bleeding. They also have only one bottle of water left and despite him being terribly thirsty he doesn’t touch it. Youngjae is going to need it if he wakes up. When. WHEN. When he wakes up.

“Youngjae.” He whispers, placing his palm against his pale face. It’s too cold and too wet. He strokes his fingertips over his cheek and his lips and his eyelids. They twitch under his touch, but beside that there is no reaction. “Youngjae…” He whispers again, lying down by his side and throwing the skimpy blanket over them to get him just a bit warmer. His voice is stuffed. He’s crying and he knows it and he knows how stupid it is, but he can’t help himself. “Don’t leave me.” He pleads into the quiet of the room and remains without an answer.

  
  


Jaebum jostles awake. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, but his body and mind are exhausted. He finds Youngjae’s still face before him and panic surges through him before he feels the soft flutter of air that lets him know he is still breathing. He cries again.

He couldn’t have slept long, even though he doesn’t know what woke him. Probably his own brain, a dream maybe. The light that falls in through the window isn’t as bright anymore. An orangey glow, but still an early evening sun. He’s so tired. He had to sit up to keep himself from falling asleep again. As much as he wants it. There’s nothing more he wants than to fall asleep by Youngjae’s side and wake up to find him lively and healthy and scolding him for… anything.

But he also knows that can’t happen. He knows Youngjae needs to rest, but he also needs to be treated properly and he needs food. They haven’t eaten much for a week, their supplies drained and too long since they successfully scavenged. And if Jaebum falls asleep he won’t notice if Youngjae’s condition gets worse and he can’t risk that. Even though he knows being awake won’t help if there’s nothing he can do.

He swings his feet off the bed. The bit of rest helped. He’s less shaky on his legs and when he grabs his gun, his fingers are almost stable. “It’s no use.” He tells Youngjae, even though he can’t hear him. When he was alone he used to talk to himself all the time. He undoes the sheath from Youngjae’s belt and pulls his dagger free from under him, fixing it to his own side. “If I die while out, it’ll probably be your death sentence.” He says like it’s not big deal. “But if I do nothing you’re gonna die anyways.” He shoots Youngjae a pleading look. “And where’s the point of me being alive when you’re not?”

The house is still as quiet as before. Darker now, with the sun standing so low. He can watch the swirling dust in the orange rays coming in through the windows, all of which are intact on the upper floor. There’s more bedrooms and a few bathrooms up here, all of which look like theirs. Completely pillaged for anything that could be of use. He finds stacks of paper, books, CDs and electric appliances that haven’t worked in years. The drawers are mostly empty. A few single socks, cables, wrapping paper, nail polish and bracelets.

Jaebum’s heart is heavy, but at least nothing moves. And he does collect the remaining blankets and sheets from the other beds and piles them in front of their door before he carefully steps on the staircase. He skips the step that he knows creaks the most from his previous trips, but it’s almost pointless. He made so much noise moving the dresser twice, if there was anything in here he would have alerted it by now, wouldn’t he?

It’s that thought which keeps him going, that there can’t be anything in here. However, anything could _come_ inside if it’s close enough and hears him. The ground floor is even worse. On top of the furniture destroyed from looting or fighting, the withering has broken down most of it. Molded wood from plenty of chairs that used to fill the dining area and pieces of brown and black tablecloth. The kitchen is bare. Shattered plates and cups scatter the floor, but the cabins are empty. Not even empty boxes are left, no single teabag of jar of mayonnaise. And no kitchen knives either. He has to stick his whole head into the cupboards to inspect them. It’s getting darker and Jaebum has no flashlight, they haven’t had batteries in weeks. If the apocalypse had just happened before everything had run on chargeable batteries, rendering alkaline batteries obsolete.

There’s a laminated menu sheet lying on one of the counters, covered in dirt, but having withstood the test of time due to the layer of unperishable plastic. It speaks promises of dishes long forgotten. Fresh meats and seafood. Jaebum can’t remember when he last had something good to eat. Neither of them is skilled at hunting, not even Youngjae, who’s good with a handgun but insecure with the scoped rifle they took from the corpse of a hunter months ago. Jaebum tried his hands at fishing when they camped at the mountain lake a while ago, but he failed spectacularly. So most of the time they make do on what he identifies as edible through his trusted plant-classification book he’s been carrying around for a year or more. And he knows that’s what’s up ahead of him if he can’t find anything in here. Go out into the woods and find some mushrooms or berries to eat. Which he’s gotten quite good at, but normally he has Youngjae to watch his back while he crouches around on the forest ground.

There are three closed doors on the ground floor. Two of them lead to the public bathrooms. One he doesn’t know. It’s a heavy door, wood, but lined with metal and it has a built-in lock from the outside. Jaebum hesitates, looks around. There is no room on the other side. It takes him a comically long time to realize that it must be the basement door. He presses his ear against it and listens. There’s no sound. He grabs the handle and pushes it down slowly. The door doesn’t move. The lock is shut. The sound of unlocking is deafening in the quiet, but barely louder than the rapid thrumming of blood in his ears. If people looted this place, why would they lock the basement door after leaving? It would make sense to lock yourself inside, but why lock yourself out? Or? What _did_ they lock inside?

His palm is sweaty against the handle and he can’t bring himself to press it down just yet. He’s not sure he wants to. Into the quiet there is a small sound. He startles, but it didn’t come from behind the door. It didn’t come from upstairs either. It came from him. His empty stomach is roaring, his churning guts hurting in his belly. It’s what makes the decision for him. It’s this, or the forest.

He pushes the handle down and pulls the door open with a disgusting creak. What’s even more disgusting is the numbing stench that hits his nostrils as soon as it swings forward. He slaps his palm before his face and gags, stumbles a few steps backwards until he bumps into the opposite wall. He leans over and coughs, retches. He’d throw up if he had anything inside him to actually come up. He, like anyone, has become quite resistant to horrid smells, due to the walking corpses and shit. But this is bad.

It’s rotten flesh and excrements and everything stuffed inside an air-sealed room and left to decay and decompose over weeks or months or maybe even years. He hides his nose and mouth behind the collar of his shirt even though it doesn’t help much and looks up, remembering to raise his gun-arm again, but as much as it stinks, it’s quiet. A ray of late sunlight shines onto the inside of the open door. It’s dirty, stained with dark blood and between all that. Scratchmarks. Long, wild tears, splintered wood, enough to damage the surface, but not enough to get through. Jaebum’s eyes wander down and at the very top of the stairs, barely distinguishable inside a heap of rags and flesh and wiggling maggots lies a decomposing body.

  
  


Youngjae has no idea if there was an outside force that startled him awake. There usually isn’t and he usually doesn’t wake without a startle. It’s ingrained in his mind, he never falls asleep calmly, nor wakes calmly. He’s very hot, feels like burning alive. He realizes that he’s buried under a giant heap of blankets that weigh him down heavily and make him sweat. His body hurts. He’s lying on his right but his left side hurts. His shoulder and his back. And his throat his dry. He’s so thirsty and if he had more strength he would remember to feel hungry too.

The memories come back to him slowly. The infected that attacked him on the railing in the warehouse. How he fell, pierced his flesh on some metal bar. He doesn’t remember anything after that. He can’t have fallen unconscious. He blinks into the light. It’s orange tinted, evening sun. That’s good, that means he wasn’t out long. But he’s not in the warehouse anymore. Where have the blankets come from? And why does it feel like he’s lying on a mattress? Where is he and how did he get here?

He wants to sit up, but his body won’t listen to him. What he does manage though, is to push the heap of fabric off him. His left arm does still work, thank god it isn’t broken. The cool air feels like a blessing and he can clear the bit that obstructed his view, giving him a better look at his surroundings. He would almost guess he’s in a bedroom of sorts. When he angles his eyes down, his heart takes a leap, whether it’s a good or bad one he can’t tell. He can make out Jaebum, his sunken form propped up against a wooden dresser. The dresser pushed up against a door. He doesn’t move. Oh my god, he doesn’t move.

“Jaebum.” He means to call, but he barely manages a raspy whisper. “Jaebum.” He tries again. His voice won’t come out and Jaebum’s crumpled body doesn’t shift. Panicking, Youngjae glances around him. Next to him is a small table and on top sits a cup. It takes him a lot of effort to reach out for it, but when he manages to grab the handle, his arm falls back, pulls it along and it shatters on the ground when it falls. He hears a yelp and when he turns his gaze, he finds Jaebum upright, light reflecting off his eyeballs and he scrambles to his feet quickly. Youngjae sighs in relief. “Jaebum.” He whimpers and it almost sounds like his voice.

He kneels by his side within a second. “Youngjae.” He hears him. Then again. “Youngjae. Youngjae. Youngjae.” His eyes fall shut under the soothing chant and his heart feels a lot lighter. “Are you okay? How do you feel?” He feels a cool palm against his forehead and fingers in his hair. He wants to fall back asleep, but he knows he can’t. “Where are we? What happened?” He inquires weakly. He wants to get up, but he barely manages to lift his head before he gets pushed back down into the bedding. “Shhh it’s okay.” Jaebum’s voice is so calming. “I brought us back to the village we passed before the depot.” Youngjae wails. No. The village isn’t safe. “It’s okay. I promise. How do you feel?” Youngjae wants to shake his head. He needs to check the perimeter. He needs to make sure they’re safe. He needs to make sure Jaebum is safe. He’s so helpless.

“Youngjae please.” Jaebum whispers. “You need to rest. I promise, we’re okay. Just tell me what you need.” He takes a shaky breath. “Hot.” He croaks. “Thirsty.” He knows they’re out of water almost, but his throat is so raspy, his mouth so dry. “Okay.” He hears rustling and then an arm wiggles under his torso and he’s lifted up a bit. His lids flutter when something presses to his lips. It’s the rim of another cup and he can’t help but to gulp down the fresh wetness that trickles between his teeth and wets his tongue. It’s heaven. He whimpers when the flow seizes. Not enough. More rustling, then the cup is against his mouth again. He drinks more, but slower. He can’t finish all their water. “Enough.” He pushes out, despite his body begging him to keep swallowing. “It’s okay.” Jaebum whispers. “We have plenty.” It’s a lie, but Youngjae gladly listens and finishes the second cup. Then a third.

He feels how it’s cold in his empty belly, feels his stomach twist around it vividly. He’s so tired. “Rest. Youngjae.” Jaebum tells him gently. “Drink. And when you have enough strength, eat something.” Despite how exhausted he is, the prospect of food has his eyes fly open. “We have something to eat?” He chokes out, mouth watering. “Yes. Plenty.” He finds Jaebum’s face and he’s smiling. He’s actually smiling. “Why?” Youngjae inquires. “How?”. He watches his head shake. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you’re better.” It’s not that easy. He does worry. He always worries about Jaebum. “I found it in here. This place wasn’t looted. It’s okay.” He seems to have sensed his thoughts. “Please Youngjae. You’re hurt. Please let me take care of you for once.” He pleads gently. “I need you to get healthy again.”

Youngjae wants to argue more, but the can of soup that he suddenly finds in Jaebum’s hand has his mind blank. He wants that soup. He has to eat it cold, they couldn’t afford carrying those dumb gas cookers around anymore and can only eat something hot when they have the chance to make a fire. They can’t make a fire in a bedroom, but even cold the soup is delicious. He sips it slowly and dissolves the mushy garnish against his tongue. He doesn’t finish the whole can before his strength leaves him and he sinks back into the mattress, managing barely to signal Jaebum to remove a few of the blankets just as he travels back to dreamland.

The next time he wakes up he’s awaited by the sugary goodness of canned peaches and the soup is forgotten. He kind of knows he’s in and out a few times, every time a bit more coherent and able to sit up higher than before and every time surprisingly still alive. Until he finally wakes up, like really, feeling awake and rested. He doesn’t see Jaebum sitting by the door anymore, instead he feels warm breath fluttering against the back of his head, tangling in his hair. Jaebum’s arm lies atop him while he’s shamelessly spooning him.

Normally Youngjae would slap him for the indecency, but it feels kind of comfortable and he also kind of feels like Jaebum deserves it. For the first time he is able to sit up all by himself and when the blankets and Jaebum’s arm fall off his shoulder, he wakes up too. “Youngjae.” He hears, by now tired of his own name after it’s been said so much for the past… what? Hours? Days? “How long was I gone?” He asks, scanning the room in the grey, rainy daylight. There are cans upon cans of food stacked in one corner. Bottles of water and, what looks like Coca Cola. Empty cans litter another corner, some cups, even a plate. And a plastic bucket against the wall behind the foot end of his bed. A bed. With springs and a frame and a mattress. The bucket pokes Youngjae’s insides.

He turns to Jaebum. “Gosh I have to pee.”

There’s no embarrassment for pissing in buckets and tipping each other’s waste out the window. Not after years of being together. What is kind of embarrassing is finding out that he was unconscious for four consecutive days. He doesn’t ask Jaebum if he managed to use the bucket himself in his delirious state and Jaebum doesn’t mention it.

He’s in a good mood. He mentions about a billion times how happy he is that he’s better and that he woke up and it makes Youngjae feel warm inside, even though he waves it off and scoffs. Jaebum insists on fixing him a whole meal. He wants to protest, but looking at the ginormous amounts of food he can’t really. They have cabbage and tomatoes and pickles Jaebum eats all by himself. And spam. And Youngjae’s body is sent into sugar overdrive because he insists on drinking a whole bottle of cola by himself, a bit stale, but pure sugary goodness and then he has to pee again.

“Where does all this food come from?” He finally asks, because it’s been nagging away at him. He tried hard to just enjoy, but you don’t just stumble upon a whole convenience store sized food stock for free. Jaebum puts his spoon down. Yes, he ate with a spoon and looks at him. “I found it.” He answers and his voice is suspiciously calm. “It was in the house.” Youngjae looks around as if there was something in the room he hasn’t seen yet. “Which house?” It sounds like a dumb question, but Jaebum gets him. “Back in the village we passed. Before we got to the… you know.” He stutters. “I saw this big house on the hill to the side, a bit away from the rest and… I drove us back here.”

Youngjae remembers the house. He saw it too and he knew Jaebum saw it. He almost expected him to say something in his dumb naiveté, but he hadn’t and Youngjae had been glad because he’d grown tired of Jaebum’s stupid suggestions. “The whole village was looted.” He gives back suspiciously. “You’re trying to tell me they skipped this place?!” Jaebum looks down at the floor and shakes his head. “It has been. Was all empty, but… uhm… the basement was… untouched.” Youngjae’s ears ring, his heart tumbles as fear has adrenaline shoot through his veins. He jumps to his feet and launches for his gun on the dresser by the door. “Youngjae.” He hears.

“Are you fucking INSANE?” He hisses, checking his mag and finding it full, then swirls around. “This whole place is _ransacked_ and there’s a basement stacked to the fucking ceiling full of fucking food and you think you can just _take_ it?!” He stalks across to the window to look outside, but the room they’re in is facing to the back of the house and all he can see is an empty, overgrown yard and the forest that begins right by the border. His eyes scan the trees and come up empty. “No, Youngjae it’s not…” He waves him off with his bad arm. “We looted someone’s stash!” He wants to yell, but years of practice have him keep his voice a low hiss. “You’re so fucking useless!”

Jaebum stays quiet and Youngjae stares out the window some more before he turns around to find him looking up at him. The apology is already sitting on his tongue. It makes him angry that he can’t control himself sometimes with Jaebum and cusses at him and he always has to tell him he’s sorry and pet his hair so he will stop crying. But there are no tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t.” He gives back, voice quiet but steady. “It was… stacked from before…” Youngjae frowns. “How do you…?”

Jaebum pulls his shoulders up. “The basement was full of infected.” Youngjae sucks in a sharp breath. He tumbles forward and falls to his knees by his side, grabbing his face. “What?!” He chokes and starts pulls at his shirt, turning his head, checking his skin. His wrists get caught and held tight. “I’m fine.” Jaebum yelps, eyes wide when Youngjae looks at him. “They were dead.” His heart races. “They were all dead already… starved… decomposed, they… But they must have kept anyone else from going down there before…” Now there _are_ tears brimming in his eyes. Youngjae almost sits in his lap, so close are they but he doesn’t care. “You went down there all by yourself?” He wants to know, voice breathy and witnesses a small nod. “I was so scared.” Jaebum whines and wraps him in a hug. “I was so scared you would… you wouldn’t make it and… I checked the house and…” He’s babbling and Youngjae does pet his hair now, because that always calms him down. “It’s good.” He soothes. “You did good.” Jaebum sniffs. “I can’t live without you.”

He knows that he means it literally, but he doesn’t mind. “Hush.” He says and Jaebum hushes.

They sit next to each other against the bed and pop open one of the bottles of wine that were apparently also in basement. They deserve it, Youngjae thinks. And he orders Jaebum to tell him what happened, tell him everything he did. “You did right.” He assures him. “You found us a place you deemed safe, you brought me in here, checked the perimeters, scavenged for supplies and barricaded the door. That was good. You did it right.” Jaebum squeezes his hand gratefully that he doesn’t seem to want to let go of. “I found this vodka. To disinfect your wound and the needle. And stitched you up and bandaged you.” He tells and it seems like a child boasting about their kindergarten adventures and expecting praise in return. Youngjae praises him. “I’m so proud of you.” He finally admits and groans about his aching shoulder when he’s hugged again.

“I _am_ useless.” Jaebum whines against his neck. “I was just lucky. If I hadn’t been lucky… If I weren’t always lucky…” He’s babbling again, but Youngjae doesn’t feel like stopping him. He rarely lets Jaebum spill his thoughts and emotions, because he can’t bear to hear them even though he knows Jaebum needs it. “I was lucky you found me. I’m lucky you protect me. And now I was lucky to find so many supplies through sheer luck. If I hadn’t… If it hadn’t been down there. Or the infected hadn’t been dead yet. I couldn’t have done anything to save you. I can never be of help if things get rough. I can’t fight, I can’t…”

“Maybe you were just lucky.” Youngjae comforts to his best abilities. “But you still did it. You took care of me and kept me safe. I _am_ proud of you.” He takes a deep breath. “And I am also lucky to have you.” Jaebum snorts and lifts his head to look at him. “Yeah right.” He spits without malice. “Jaebum.” Youngjae raises his hands to cradle his face again, squishing his palms against his cheeks. “I’m going to say this once. So listen.” Jaebum’s wide, wet eyes blink rapidly. “I keep you alive. I fight. To keep you alive. To keep us alive. Because I can.” Another deep breath. “But you. Give us a reason to stay alive. Me.”

He could have said it better, but in this day and age, he doesn’t think there is any use for clever wording. Say it or don’t. “Thank you.” He adds.

  
  


“I love you.” Isn’t the response he expected and it makes him sputter. “Shut up.” He swats his head away and grabs the wine to take another gulp of it. “I love you.” Jaebum repeats unfazed. “Let’s just both not lose each other, okay?” The light-heartedness has him almost laugh and when he feels his injuries creep up and make him exhausted he crawls back under the blanket, just one this time, he doesn’t shoo Jaebum away as he climbs in behind him and loosely hugs him.

  
  


They stay holed up in that blessed stupid room for almost two weeks while Youngjae recovers. They have enough food to do it and not worry about having to get back on the street too soon. Youngjae reluctantly allows him to leave just long enough to collect the books from the other room and they sit together and he reads for them. Even though he has to often go back and read a whole chapter again, because Youngje fell asleep in the middle of it and can’t follow the story and then whines until Jaebum finds exactly the paragraph he dozed off on.

His wound heals well even though the stitches are uneven and ugly, he doesn’t seem to have caught any infection. His shoulder and arm turn purple, then blue then green as ithey heal. He says that it hurts when he uses it, but he can move it in all directions freely. Since they sleep in the same bed anyways, they prop up the other mattress and Jaebum uses it for stabbing practice, failing so fantastically that Youngjae curls his hand around his fist and guides him with his chin on his shoulder.

When it rains they hang some of the sheets out the window, pull them back in wet and do what they call “bathing”. Basically they strip naked and wipe themselves down with the wet cloth. Jaebum boldly takes over to wash the patches of skin that Youngjae “can’t” reach with his hurting arm. He doesn’t stop there and Youngjae doesn’t stop him. He closes his eyes when he falls back onto the mattress, naked body splayed on top of soiled sheets and he keeps them closed all throughout it while Jaebum touches him intimately for the first time. Well, not the first time really, but for the first time he doesn’t get smacked over the head the moment he tries.

It’s okay. Jaebum has to wipe him again with the damp sheet, after he comes on his own stomach and especially because Jaebum comes on his stomach too, watching his brows crinkle atop his still tightly shut eyes, but he again isn’t smacked and not scolded either. When they go to sleep that night, still enjoying their ‘cleanliness’ in full nudity, unwilling to put on their smelly clothes again just yet, Youngjae, who still can only sleep on his right side scoots back all the way to the wall, so Jaebum has to lie down in front of him. Then he slithers closer until their fronts touch and kisses him.

The next morning Jaebum wakes with his hard cock chafing against Youngjae’s stomach and he stays still, despite being awake while he ruts his hot naked skin like a dog until he messes up his stomach _again_. Then Youngjae keeps his eyes open when Jaebum goes down on him and sucks him like he’s never sucked a dick before until Youngjae shoots down his throat with Jaebum’s fingertips against his taint. They read more. They eat. They talk. They finished all the bottles of wine he’d brought upstairs and he insists that there weren’t anymore besides the vodka which they don’t drink but store for future injuries. There were more, a lot more, but Jaebum really doesn’t want to go to the basement again.

They pack. They hear infected scream in the distance when they load up the car and hurry. They’re so well rested, better than in months or maybe ever that they drive for two days straight, only ever stopping to syphon fuel from wrecked cars, go poop or to switch places. Youngjae is still a really bad driver, but he’s getting better. One time they stop in the middle of the road because Youngjae busied himself recounting stories from all the times he slept with hot chicks in college, going into such insane detail that Jaebum in the driver’s seat pops a massive boner. He has to stop the car, because Youngjae leans down and gives him the messiest, most amateur blow-job that leaves him a puddle of mushy bones and incoherent babbling. Youngjae has to drive then and he almost crashes them down a bridge.

They stop for more supplies occasionally and add everything to their stash that extended the trunk and spread all the way to the backseat. They takes pauses in farmhouses and Youngjae is back to his old self in no time, mowing through infected like he never did anything else. Once they ironically halt at a gas station for fuel, not because they think the station has any left, but because there are about thirty abandoned cars scattered around. What the gas station does have are a bunch of infected and a back room, something like an office with a strong steel door. One of the infected slips by Youngjae’s machete (courtesy of a wheat farmer) and charges right at Jaebum. He shoots it, straight in the head with just one bullet and it falls dead on the ground. They lock themselves in the back room, which is narrow and has but a high up, fenced window. Youngjae kisses him and praises him while unbuckling his pants. Jaebum lies on top of him, while Youngjae’s nails dig into the concrete floor and fingers curl around the metal leg of the nearby heavy rack as he pounds into him like a mad man. Youngjae moans with no restraint and if it alerts more infected nearby Jaebum couldn’t care less, if he dies he dies happily, thrusting and wrecking Youngjae’s broad body that arches off the hard ground. His thick legs wrapped tightly around his own leaner torso, head thrown back while pearls of Jaebum’s sweat drip down on his glistening skin. They could die tomorrow. Or the day after. But Jaebum will die having had the best fuck since the dawn of time, wild and messy. He watches the muscles in Youngjae’s arms flex and on his stomach and he listens to his heated cries of pleasure, the slapping of skin on skin each time he bottoms out and his front collides with the full buttocks. Youngjae makes a mess beneath him, untouched and breathing heavily and with glossy eyes.

This is life. Jaebum thinks. He’s looking out the window, watches the overgrown meadows pass by, fields that used to grow corn and potatoes, deer and rabbits and large birds claiming the cultivated nature back for themselves. The weather is colder, nature yellower and he's not sure whether it's the winter or the north. “What if it’s not there?” Youngjae asks out of nowhere. Jaebum feels more comfortable letting him drive the passages of long straight country roads so that he can take the wheel for the steep hills and whenever they have to pass through a city. He shrugs. “Then we keep going.” He answers and places his hand on the gear shift so Youngjae can take it. _Prud gorod._ The Russian town they advertised on all channels that were still broadcasting soon after the outbreak. That was years ago, but traveling korea for as long as Youngjae has, gave them no hope that there was anything left. So eventually, after having a big fight about settling down or traveling further they came to the conclusion that it was best for them, not their lives, but their mental stability, to have a goal. Something to do, somewhere to go, anything to achieve.

They’ve been on the road for a while, scavenging maps and drawing routes. It was supposed to be a safe place, protected by capable militaries, fenced, guarded. But that was a long time ago. It could be gone, could be overrun. It could be a terrible place, military rule and misery. Jaebum isn’t afraid of that. He knows Youngjae will protect him. “What if there are pretty women?” He questions back, still looking out the window. He’s petty he knows that. But he also knows that the only reason he’s allowed to be intimate with Youngjae is because he’s the only one there. They haven’t met another person since that group near the border and _they_ tried to rob them. Youngjae shot two of them and the rest fled. He cried that night, the only time Jaebum’s witnessed him cry as he learned that it was the first time he’d taken a person’s life.

“We belong together.” Youngjae simply says and nothing more. Jaebum’s heart is heavy. “What if they don’t let you pick your job?” He asks in an attempt to change the topic to something lighter. He looks over and finds Youngjae’s face confused. “I mean, what if they put you into… I don’t know. Dishwashing duty?” He explains and to his delight it makes Youngjae laugh. “I’d be okay with that.” He admits and Jaebum nods. “Me too. I’d even clean toilets for the rest of my life.” He reminisces. “As long as… As long as you’re there.” He takes his hand into his palm that had been resting loosely atop his knuckles and squeezes it. Youngjae squeezes back.

  
  


“ _This is Christy_.” The bearded man says in heavily accented English. “ _She speak Korean_.” Christy has the same buzzcut short hair as the Russian man. Jaebum wonders if it’s custom here and he has to cut his hair too. He wouldn’t mind, but he’d miss Youngjae’s filthy long bangs. Christy is nice, she’s probably half-something and her Korean is broken, but coherent. The town is more than they’d hoped for. It’s situated half embedded into the wide tails of the lake. To be precise, only half of the town seems to be enclosed by the large wall-like fence that serves as the ‘safe-zone’. But it’s still huge. And it’s clean and bright and hedges are trimmed proper.

Everything is a bit overwhelming and Jaebum only half-listens while they trot behind their guide. His neck goes left and right. There are people everywhere and chickens in the gardens and there are cows mooing in the distance and once, sneaking through a fence, Jaebum spots a pretty tabby cat. The people have a life here, he realizes, when he sees them standing around chatting, carrying goods, the sound of hammering comes from several directions.

Many people wave at them as they pass by, most of them are white and most speak in Russian, but he hears some english that he doesn’t understand much better and also several groups of Chinese. They pass apartment buildings and make it to a smaller street full of cute little one-family brick houses. A few women wash laundry on the lawn before one of them. “This is where our soldiers live.” Christy says. “And their wives.” She grins and waves, one of the women blows her a kiss. Christy carries a rifle over her shoulder. She must be a soldier. “With all the gruesome things we see…” She says, a little more serious. “All the violence and terror… It’s good to have a nice place to call home. Someone to keep you sane, you know?” She sighs. “We still can’t fully self-sustain, so we make trips to neighboring cities to scavenge. We have an important duty, but.” She straightens up. “Everyone has a job. Farmers, bakers, mechanics, carpenters. My wife is a teacher.” She doesn’t say it without pride, but Jaebum is more startled by the thought that this place needs teachers. That means there are children, right?”

Christy stops in the street and turns to them. “Is there something you can do well? A job you know how to do?” Jaebum bites his lip. He’s not sure what he can do. “I’m…” Youngjae slowly speaks. “Good at shooting.” He’s not looking at them, he’s still looking at the women in the yard, bent over their washboards. “I can fight. If you need more soldiers.” Christy nods. “I figured. You look fit. We do need strong men in our troops. You too?” Her gaze makes Jaebum cower. “’m not so…” He mutters. “I’m more, uhm… The type for…” He gestures to the women just as Youngjae turns away from them and looks at him. “Domestic tasks.” Christy doesn’t laugh or scowl. She just nods with a slight smile. It’s Youngjae who reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder.

“He’s a soldier’s wife.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, if I have any readers who speak russian. I literally just put two words into google translate. Forgive me.


End file.
